


White Noise

by Rainbow_Okapi



Series: Let Sleeping Dogs Lie [1]
Category: DCU
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, BAMF Jason Todd, Conditioning, Dehumanization, Jason Todd is Red Hood, M/M, Manipulative Relationship, Master/Pet, Mental Anguish, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Partial Mind Control, Past Torture, Power Imbalance, Protective Jason Todd, Unhealthy Relationships, male reader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:47:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25839067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainbow_Okapi/pseuds/Rainbow_Okapi
Summary: A standard mission with the Outlaws leaves (Y/N) facing off against past nightmares and old trauma. Jason must act quickly to save his partner from the shackles of their own mind before they end up back in Slade's cage. Grayson is doing what he can to help but even he has his secret's regarding the mercenary. If he doesn't play his cards right, Jason might just have to save them both from ghosts of themselves. Old habits never quite disappear. Slade is counting on that.
Relationships: Jason Todd/Male Reader, Jason Todd/Reader, Slade Wilson/Reader, past Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson - Relationship
Series: Let Sleeping Dogs Lie [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1874941
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	1. Stray Pup

**Author's Note:**

> Hi y'all. Hope you like this little dabble where the reader gets fucked up by Slade and Jason is scrambling to pick up the pieces. First chapter is focused on the Reader's struggles and thought's regarding their Master as well as some backstory. Second chapter in the making with focus on Jason and Dick.

He wasn’t trained for this. Recon, yes. Basic field tasks, sure. Fighting… maybe? That depends on who you asked. _Obedience_ on the other hand, hell fucking yeah. That was all (Y/N) wanted out of life, or at least, that was what he thought- _made to think?_ He wasn’t sure at this point. _What was he even trying to do?_ In the swimming uncertainty, (Y/N)’s aching legs buckled, and in the brief clarity of self preservation, his hand shot out and slammed into dirty bricks for support. His entire body burned, and dripped with sweat, like he ran and _ran_ until he almost collapsed. Oh Right. He was in an alleyway somewhere in Gotham. No coherent thoughts seemed to be able to stay afloat in the choppy soup that was his psyche. Whatever surfaced was drowned before his clumsy hands could fish it up. His palm throbbed from the impact, so he focused on that instead. The texture of the bricks didn’t cut into his palm thanks to his tactical gloves. Okay, that meant he was on a mission, or at the very least basic patrol.  
(Y/N) sucked in a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. If he was on patrol, where was Jason? Static flooded into his ears, but maybe it was already there and he was just now noticing it? Great, so he was wandering around like a deer _in full uniform!_ The static should be concerning _-it was-_ but _-he could hardly hear it-_ he could work with that, like he was trained to do. (Y/N)’s breath stuttered out a whimper as his other hand cradled the matte black object around his skull. It was shaped like a black dog hood; a unique concoction sleek and sharp with a smooth muzzle. He had earned this helmet as a testament to his obedience and will to follow orders, leading to his current panic. His Handler was not here to give orders. _Handler?_ That one word was enough to ripple through the ocean of thoughts. Once more he slammed his hand into the bricks, uncaring of the filth embedding itself into the kevlar. He did not have a handler anymore! Because he wasn’t his fucking dog! Another slam of his palm, this time without restraining part of his enhancements, and the bricks splintered with a sharp crack. Now there were jutting edges against the throbbing hand, and fallen shards scraped against his shoes when (Y/N) straightened up. It was his own guttural snarl that finally ebbed the tide of confusion into a whirlpool of shame.  
He was on a mission. He was on a mission with the Outlaws and Slade was there. His _Handler_ was there. What should have been a simple takeover was warped into a high-tail down induction hill. (Y/N) had been sent to infiltrate the shipyard building housing supplies believed to be linked to an armory for various organized crime syndicates. The Outlaw’s main goal was to snatch gear, grab intel, and then hand the rest of the process to Batman later. Per (Y/N)’s specialty, he was sent in first to bug the security feeds and disable some of the turrets that were placed throughout the property. This place was a hidden gem of dirty money, so their security was a little tight; combined with the new toys that were supposed to arrive that night, this gig was a team effort. Once security was down, he’d begin a file transfer and open a path for the team and reboot the turrets under his command to provide covering fire. Starfire would load as many crates as possible into a truck with Roy providing support, while Jason went through the back entrance to interrogate the ring leader supervising the inventory. All in all, between the four of them, it should have been a piece of cake. It _should_ have been.  
When were things ever easy for (Y/N) though? Entering the compound had been quiet and easy, which had been an immediate red flag. There were about 4 guards browsing the floor of the security control room and that was it. If (Y/N) didn’t know any better, he’d chalk it up to lazy planning, but as his Handler- _Stop calling Him that!_ \- would mention; assumption is the mother of all failure. So he slipped in cautiously through the vents because there was a window ajar right in front of the security room and _it didn’t feel right._ Reaching the security room didn’t provide any ease, rather the pit in his stomach turned into a lead ball. No one was in the room, the wall of screens was on but from the vent in the side of the wall (Y/N) could almost see the whole room. That sent up red flag #2. It was times like this that he was grateful for his helmet having the ability to mute itself to the outside world. That way he could talk through the comms like he did then and not have worry about anyone else overhearing him. Red Hood was already inside the building when he got the message, and agreed about the shoddy compound security. If the supervisor was still here- Red Hood cursed in his ear, shouting something about bombs, before the comm cut out into white noise. The wall of screens before him turned into raging static too. (Y/N) was just about to attempt to high-tail out the vent the way he came when the screens went black. The white noise having moved inside of his helmet and engulfing him. He sputtered thanks once more, as without the screens’ illumination, the entire room went dark. Night Vision activated almost instantaneously. In the perfect time to see a hand clench around the grate and tear it off.  
Slade’s strength had always impressed (Y/N). Like a child, he had admired the way he moved; pondering the possibility that his own enhancements could ever match a fraction of Slade’s skills. (Y/N) knew he should be scared at the harsh action _-he was-_ but the awe was still there even as another hand plunged through the opening and tore (Y/N) out of the vent by his throat and flung him across the room. Feeling that oh so familiar hand engulf his throat, feeling the flex of muscle, the breath of a beast of a man so calm and collected… It felt like (Y/N) had never left. It felt like he had never planned his own death and fled with a well intentioned scientist who was too motherly for her own good. _The Scientist had helped him because she could see the eyes of a dead man; because she could not deal with the suffering she created for (Y/N)._ With Slade however, suddenly (Y/N) was just that small, fresh-faced boy getting slammed into the mat over and over again. A boy too clumsy in his foreign body, who had to learn to walk before Slade allowed him to run. Sparring had always been so fun. Witty banter, mixed with harsh blows they both knew would be healed in a few hours, and the free flowing praise when (Y/N) managed to land an exceptional move or surprise him with dirty tricks. The way Slade cooed at him during experiments, like (Y/N)’s psyche wasn’t being ripped apart by white noise and an unholy cocktail of fuck-knows-what kind of chemicals. How his sweet, almost... gentle words conflicted with his firm hands; molding the boy into a beast of his own image. How (Y/N) earned the callsign Mutt when his Handler finally allowed him to run a solo contract and he came back covered in filth but vibrating in his skin. _Where was he going with this-?_  
Oh fuck. The impact against the opposite wall jarred him out of the haze just enough for (Y/N) to salvage some pride. He clamped down on the cough in his throat when he made contact with the ground and pushed himself into a low and wide three point stance. Slade still looked amazing even in night vision. There was a lack of elevation in his shoulders, not relaxed, but professionally neutral. The mask was a little irksome, but he could deal with it. He hadn’t drawn a weapon yet either which made (Y/N) realize his free hand was cradling his throat and not poised at his holster like it should be. _Wow- he was sloppy tonight._ Something broke through the static inside the left of (Y/N)’s helmet. Choppy and drowned before it could be registered; still his head ticked sideways away from the sickeningly familiar disturbance. In Slade’s one visible eye, there was a shard of emotion but he couldn’t pick anything out of it when Slade spoke up,  
“I would clear your schedule for tonight, kid.”  
There was another break in the static. No, breaks- pauses in rapid succession. The muscles of the boy’s back spasmed in unison. He barely had time to save face and keep himself propped up on his forearm. Maybe he choked something out. Maybe he curled into a ball on the filthy linoleum floor. Maybe this was a fucked up dream and (Y/N) was back at the Outlaw’s shared apartment while Roy lazily flipped through some channels on the TV. His Handler let out an exasperated sigh and his fingers curled around the boy’s sleek muzzle.  
“You have a lot of ground to cover before you can run on home. Understood, Pup?”  
The boy does not remember when his Handler crossed the room and crouched before him without his mask. Static roared around them, encompassing everything aside from his Handler, who smirked thoughtfully. (Y/N) had half the thought to feel pleased that whatever he was enduring was amusing to his Handler. It must be so, because the grip on the helmet tightens and the static commands a scream from his throat; giving up trying to interpret the morse code inside the noise just as quickly as he tried to slam into the mercenary before him. It was a weak attempt, he knew that, but (Y/N) wasn’t _His_ anymore. He would be damned if he didn’t try and fight; if he didn’t tear his mind open before the conditioning closed it for him. The boy tries to scream and claw at the catches of the helmet; darkness consuming all before any of his fruitless struggles can come to action.  
Everything afterwards came in diluted waves . He can’t remember anything aside from that familiar one-eyed glare. The static pounds in his ears, though far more dull and spaced out. The alleyway he’s in doesn’t stand out to him, and dawn is just barely beginning. He gulps in air after a set of harsh breaks but then is immediately soothed as the volume dropped significantly, the breaks pulsing like a motherly heartbeat. Ebbing and flowing like a soft tide. His body sways with exhaustion. Static continues to flow like gentle caresses and eases a bend into his knees. A memory about the time (Y/N) fell asleep against Jason’s legs plays behind his eyelids. The rug he sat on was plush, Jason’s calves were firm and solid, while the hand scraping against his scalp was warm. There, sitting at Jason’s feet perfectly loyal and silent, had been heavenly. He just had to wait for Jason to find him. All (Y/N) had to do was be a good boy and wait, just like Slade said. He could only hope he had run far enough to please him... Finally, after a deep breath there is silence. (Y/N) sinks onto his knees and rests on his ankles in the sweet, merciful silence of memory. Bass bumps in a languid manner inside the helmet, indistinguishable from a heartbeat. The memory continues until the boy succumbs to the final embrace of sleep. Even then, (Y/N) thinks of Jason.


	2. Sit and Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Follow Jason along as he deals with (Y/N)'s absence during the mission. Whatever advice Grayson could give surrounding Slade's ownership falls short as the Outlaw's are forced to deal with the aftermath of his interruption. Jason's soft spot makes an appearance and he has surprisingly good bedside manners.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure how I feel about this chapter and I might revisit it but for now, here ya go. If anyone wants to know, I was basing the Reader's design on my self-insert.... it's embarrassing but if any of y'all want a more in depth look at them, you can find it here: https://rainbow-okapi.tumblr.com/post/624864816675373056/muffled-yelling-in-the-distance-oh-my-they  
> please keep in mind I am not a good digital artist just yet.

He’s still in calm thralls when his thoughts breached the surface. Jason could see that much when his partner’s eyes fluttered about beneath closed eyelids. It was the most movement he had seen out of them for the whole day. Some sick part of him wants to let (Y/N) stay as he is. Frankly, he was still trying to figure out if the message sent to him roughly 15 minutes after the EMP/or whatever electrical disruptor went off was part of a move to get the timetable moved up or if it was some sort of game. While a little banged up, Jason had still confirmed the supervisor was not in the compound, at the cost of grabbing the weapons. He wasn’t able to contact the rest of the team remotely. In those 15 minutes, he attempted to make his way up a flight of stairs to get to the security room only to be met with a handful of manual turrets and a group of mercenaries that definitely were of a higher caliber than most goons he typically dealt with in gangs. Roy and Kori were probably either securing a getaway car or rushing to meet him; Jason couldn’t decide what was worse. Stuck on the low ground, fucking pissed… Jason would've _liked_ those odds on a better day. He plucked a stun grenade from his belt and chucked it into a smooth arc. Even still, it took him longer to breach the line than he would have liked. The goons armor had some sort of gel padding and they jumped back into the fight just when he thought they would stay down. By the 7 minute mark, Jason finally knocked down the last man for good. 2 Minutes to scramble up the stairs. 1 minute to breach two doors and enter the security room.  
His partner wasn’t there. In the dark room, Jason could only be swallowed by silence as he tried to reboot the monitors and servers. Curses spat and he might have kicked the server when the commands didn’t go through the first time, but the screens eventually came to life again. If he could just find out where the shipment was headed then this shit show wouldn’t be a total bust. He went through the motions of downloading intel, something that (Y/N) should have done, when a notification popped up in the display of his helmet. It took Jason a moment, a reprimand for (Y/N) disappearing; dying like the air in his lungs.

_**Have you checked on your dog recently? -Slade**_  
\----  
Jason had sworn. He had snarled and gone tense at the breach of security. _Of Fucking Course._ Why bother with a large security detail when you could just hire Slade Goddamn Wilson? Nothing was ever smooth when Slade was involved, not with (Y/N) around. There was a flash drive of reasons why (Y/N) should never have to deal with that psychopath. Ever. Again. It was all he could do but breathe through the rage as he went through (Y/N)’s shadowed upbringing; all of it packed neatly into folders upon folders of video logs and data reports. That was the moment Jason understood what it meant to have (Y/N) as his partner. They trusted him with their life. Trusted him with every scar and schematic on how to bend their own mind to his will. The kind of trust only one other person has earned before him if only briefly. It was one of the rare times Grayson and him had unceremoniously fallen into pace with each other and brought up hard issues. The kinds of talks when silence spoke volumes and words held more weight than anyone would care to admit. He wanted answers and Grayson was the only person who knew Slade enough to talk. That’s how Jason ended up glaring over a cup of shitty coffee at the little golden child days before their respective missions, including their current one, separated them again. The two of them nursing old memories in the hopes that the other can gain some insight to their problem.  
Jason had tried to sigh and reign in the impatience but the gnawing words dripped in a moment of suffocating silence. Dick had laughed after Jason bit out the single question of Why. Why was Deathstroke so hung up on, not only (Y/N), but Nightwing as well? It wasn’t a question either really wanted the answer to, but needed all the same. Todd could do nothing but watch as something dark rose inside Grayson’s eyes while the smile on his lips curled over the rim of his own post-patrol coffee; how his words bounced against the diner cup, monotone yet weighted all at once.  
“Slade isn’t one to neglect pet projects.”  
Jason had been haunted by his words that echoed without ludic tones and implicated so many things all at once. It was the shock of realization of why Dick and (Y/N) had gotten along so well that drew his shoulder blades together. He had sworn then too, that the next time he crossed with Slade he’d do his damndest to give him a bullet somewhere that really hurt. Grayson’s answer still left him with more questions than answers but it was a cornerstone at the very least. Something to stave off the green on the edge of his vision in favor of chasing after a plethora of leads. Dick could work with his relationship issues for a little longer so long as it didn’t pull (Y/N) into the undertow of missing data between the two.  
He wanted to scream about the missing files on that drive (Y/N) had given to Grayson, then to him. Wanted to grab Dick and (Y/N) by their shoulders and shake some sense into them until they understood their own self-flagellation surrounding the same mercenary. Grayson got out. Nightwing rose past Slade’s prison only to drag himself back into it every time he reached out to (Y/N) who was still pawing at the cell door. He couldn’t bring that up. It wasn’t a wound either wanted to touch just yet. So… the conversation between Bats was severed just after that, but both knew the other was brewing their own conclusions. It wouldn’t be the last time this topic was brought up between them but for now, they would part ways. Jason would have to suffer with his own theories for the time being. 

Was this some sort of self-imposed test? 

The thought burns in Jason’s mind like a churning pit; neon and scorching. (Y/N) fought back, Jason _knows_ he did. There’s some smattering of bruises on his arms and legs. They’re well on their way of disappearing thankfully. He could only hope the mental scarring eased with it. _It won’t, not with people like us._ The most he could do was provide a balm to help smooth the process. Fuck, if that wasn’t one of their first lessons life beat into them. Repeatedly. With a crowbar for good measure. Yet there (Y/N) was, so quiet and docile on the Outlaw’s couch; heedless of Gotham’s maws. (Y/N) could be dripping venom on some nights. The lash of his tongue precise as the deadliest neurotoxin to burn through. Or he could be as blunt as a 2x4 against flesh. His worst is what others would classify as ‘quiet days’. How could they know, when (Y/N) moved so silently that not even Batman could detect them until too late, that they were dealing with something far more deadly than ‘a quiet day’. When (Y/N) got like that, suddenly you weren’t just dealing with a mutt of a mercenary; you were dealing with Deathstroke himself. He should be grateful for the fact that he found (Y/N) is his tamed state, regardless of the panicked uncertainty that came with it.  
He was lucky to come across (Y/N) at all. Slade could have easily just vanished with him and he would be none the wiser until the mission was over with and they were miles away. That statement is far too obvious for Jason to ignore. Why had Slade sent the message at all? Why was (Y/N) all the way across Gotham, like he was trying to get home but just couldn’t get himself to push those last few miles in? There was something so wrong about the image (Y/N) had created when Jason had stumbled upon him. He was able to track the boy’s helmet thankfully but his comms were disabled, or at least, Jason wasn’t able to connect with him. Kori was with Roy, completing the mission to their best extent; both having not uttered a question when Jason broadcasted over the shipyard loudspeaker what had transpired. They could handle themselves. (Y/N) didn’t have a choice on what happened to him. For Jason to find him, looking so still and small in a random lone alley… Jason wouldn’t deny the sight of him made his vision tunnel just the slightest. (Y/N) was alive though, his heartbeat steady and resting in Jason’s helmet as he synced their helmets to monitor the boy’s vitals. Nothing but (Y/N)’s soft breath greeted him, and no shaking nor yelling garnered a reaction. It was all Jason could do but focus on his partner’s heartbeat during the process of getting him back to the safehouse. There was no way of knowing what information Slade might have forced out of him so the team simply had to rally and deal with that later. Jason needed to tend to his partner.  
\----   
(Y/N) was, in simplest terms, dead to the world. Not once during the whole process of transferring him onto Jason’s bike and getting him through the door to the Outlaw’s safehouse did the body in his arms stir. It was nerve wracking to the highest degree. Jason couldn’t tell if (Y/N) was in pain, if he was in any sort of torment. They didn’t even shift or mumble when Jason propped them up on the couch to fully assess them. Nothing about this was right. He knew there was a single word that would cause the boy to snap awake, but the repercussions afterwards was something both wanted to avoid. A mindless soldier wasn’t something Jason had the emotional capacity to deal with right now anyway. Against his own comfort, the marksman set to work peeling (Y/N) out of their filthy gear and prepping a sponge bath. Getting them comfortable in the quickest time possible was imperative. The last thing he needed was the rest of the team coming back and seeing (Y/N) buck ass nude on the couch. Not that they would practically care, but (Y/N) might. Better not to risk it. If Jason decides to be a little selfish and dresses them in one of his t-shirts and sweats, then so be it. They would probably appreciate the comfort. Fresh faced and clothed, it would be so easy to simply say (Y/N) was just resting. Resting and not under whatever trance or sedative Deathstroke forced upon them. Sparing a few precious moments to do some deep breathing exercises, Jason finally sets to work setting up a debrief and unwinding himself. He’d do a through analysis of (Y/N)’s helmet as well. After all, it had originally been Slade’s tech in the first place, and he had no doubt there was foul play involved with it. If he takes a moment to do another once over of his partner, it was fine. Sometimes, (Y/N) wore that dog helmet so much, Jason could almost forget there was a person underneath it. Afterall, that’s not what (Y/N) was trained to be. When (Y/N) first joined Jason in Gotham, he couldn’t ignore the hushed whispers of the city. How gangs seemed just as afraid of (Y/N) as they were of Jason now that “Wilson’s Dog” had a new owner. Jason forces himself to breathe deeply once more and lets the anger push him into the shower for much needed relief. He wasn’t (Y/N)’s handler, that was Dick’s job. He was… Jason was his partner. If (Y/N) viewed him as a handler, then the two of them needed to have a serious chat....  
By the time he stepped out of the bathroom dressed and towelling the last traces of water from his hair, Roy and Kori barrelled into the living room. Their eyes were wide and searching but the disbelief was still potent when they landed on (Y/N)’s slumbering form. Jason takes the shocked silence as an opening to assess his friends at face level. Neither looked near as horrible as (Y/N). They were still sweaty and winded but aside from that, no obvious body posturing portrayed what could be bumps and bruises. That in itself was a balm for him, regardless on whether the mission was a success or not. They had gotten intel at least so Jason would say the mission was half successful already. Kori was the first to drift over, daring an analytical glance at Jason but trusting his space. Confusion and no small part of pain was etched across her features but there is an audible breath from her when she settles a warm hand across Mutt’s forehead. They don’t react in the slightest and now Jason seriously considers using the trigger to wake him. (Y/N) _always_ burrowed into Kori to reciprocate her love language even if they weren’t personally in the mood for such contact.  
“Jason..?” Of course Roy is the first to break the silence. His gaze is cautious, but not scared. Worried but not unoptimistic. It eases a breath out of Jason he didn’t realize he was holding. He doesn’t bother to scrutinize himself when his own voice comes out distant.  
“Physically, he’s fine. I found (Y/N) a couple minutes out from here- looks like he travelled on foot though-”  
“On foot?! You mean he fucking ran all the way here?” It was times like this Jason was glad for how expressive Roy and Kori were; both wearing incredulous looks and Roy shouting a sentiment that Jason couldn’t help but echo after the interruption.  
“Fucking-YES- apparently he did! I found him passed out in an alley looking like a piece of shit. He’s unresponsive…” They let Jason catch his thoughts while he chucks the towel from around his shoulders into the laundry hamper. Both were well aware of (Y/N)’s conditioning but to see him so deathly still was none the easier to witness. “I don’t know what Slade did, I didn’t even realize he was at the shipyard before the bastard sent me a message-”  
“Slade- Slade was there?” That got Kori’s attention. Her face now serious and body tense. He recalled then that they had crossed paths, multiple times in fact. Some part of him curled with warmth at the thought. (Y/N) would probably be enamored that Kori could tussle with Slade. Chivalrous to the point that the very mention of the mercenary had Kori looming over (Y/N) with the aura of lioness protecting their cub. Jason hadn’t told them that part back at the shipyard; just yelled that (Y/N) had been taken and booked it to the last location Mutt’s helmet transmitted. Stupid in hindsight. Roy, ever observant, slung an arm around Jason’s shoulders with a teasing voice.  
“Leave it to Jaybird to go toe to toe with Deathstroke without backup. Planned to keep your budding romance a secret?” Jason had to exhale through his nose to subdue the snort of scathing laughter. Oh if Roy knew. It wasn’t his relationship to be kept secret. Shrugging out of Roy’s side, they let him meander closer to the couch and pluck Mutt’s helmet from the coffee table.  
“Slade’s never one to be merciful about keeping other’s secrets.” The statement was too heavy, not with the implictactions the object in his hands might have. Not with the look in Dick’s eyes still fresh in his mind. He settles heavily into a seat by the kitchen table and sets to work connecting the helmet to his work laptop. If there was spyware inside it, it was better to get it out sooner than later. This turn of events wasn’t exactly new, evident by how Roy wordlessly handed him a tall mug of coffee to signify the start of a new work day. Kori was lingering though. She kneeled next to (Y/N) and wordlessly carded her hand against their scalp and thumbed his knuckles with the other. That was fine. She could take over watch duty if she wanted. Roy had set to gathering up (Y/N)’s gear to drag into his workshop to tinker with. All in all, the team seemed to have pushed the previous mission to the side, silently moving onto their own agendas all surrounding their slumbering teammate. Jason muses that regardless of how (Y/N) were to wake up, he would be surrounded by his team and that was enough. They’d wait until dinner and if (Y/N) didn’t show signs of consciousness.... Jason would command him awake. The thought burned inside of him but Dick had been honest when he had given Jason (Y/N)’s life story in a stick. They had been trained to obey, and sometimes that was the only thing Wilson’s Mutt could do. Even if it was to sleep. The thought makes Jason snort and he resigns himself to rooting through (Y/N)’s helmet as a distraction. (Y/N) was back with him now. He was safe and warm; with his team to keep an eye on him. Whatever was wrong, whatever Slade had done to him, they would fix it. Jason simply had to wait and see what (Y/N) needed him to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, Comments are Appreciated! Feel free to throw me some ideas or themes you might want to see in future chapters or individual works.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed :D You can find me on tumblr at https://rainbow-okapi.tumblr.com/  
> Comments are very much Appreciated, please!


End file.
